Snapshot · (Roswell Fanfiction) · √

25. In Sickness and in Health

The Apartment
Tuesday afternoon
(2006) Max is 21, Liz is 20

"Parker," his knuckles rapped against the wooden door before he opened it, not waiting for her reply, "Do you have...?" His eyes landed on her tear-stained face and he froze. "What's wrong?"

"Go away, Max," she sobbed, her fingers rapidly thumbing through the pages of a brick-sized book.

Contrary to her request, he stepped further into the room, took in her position on the floor next to the bed, the papers strewn all around her and her desperate movements. "What's going on?"

"Just leave," she repeated and then threw one of the books into the wall with a frustrated cry. Without him having to ask her again, she volunteered the information, "That idiot changed the deadline for my essay. I won't have time to write it now."

She sneezed and reached for a box of tissues, and Max realized that she was curled up in a thick blanket.

"Why is he so intent on screwing up my life? I had it all planned and now he completely fucked over my schedule."

"Are you feeling alright?"

She looked up at him with a flustered face and dark angry eyes. "No Max. I'm not feeling alright. I'm gonna fail that unit now because of that asshole. The assignment is worth 60% of my final grade."

"You can complain," Max said and kneeled next to her.

"Oh, I've complained," she said tightly and almost ripped a page out of the library book when she turned the page hastily.

He placed his hand across her hands to stop her. "Hey hey. Calm down."

He frowned at the heat of her hands. Her hands were usually fairly cold. But not today. "Liz..."

She ripped her hands away from his and turned to pull another book over to where she was sitting when his hand on her forehead halted her actions. Annoyed with him, she pushed his hands away.

"Max! Get off!"

"Liz," he said carefully. "You're burning up. You have a fever."

"I'm cold," she said stubbornly and pulled the blanket closer around her, as if she couldn't be burning up because she was actually freezing.

"Sweetie, you're sick," Max said.

"No, I'm not!" she exclaimed and pulled herself to her feet, paper and books tumbling to the floor around her. "I don't have time to be sick."

He slowly rose and watched her as she tightened the blanket around her and stepped up to her laptop. Leaning over the desk, she typed something into the journal search.

"Kitten, you need to rest," Max said slowly.

New tears started to flow down her fever-flushed face and she said weakly, "I don't have time to rest. Didn't you hear what I said? It's worth 60% of my final grade."

"I'll write it," he said.

She looked at him with utter disdain. "Yeah, right."

He shrugged. "I bet I can write it just as well as you can in your current state."

"I'm. Not. Sick," she said slowly, clenching her teeth together.

Her body decided that it'd had enough at that point and she swayed. Max's heart skipped a beat and he took a step closer to her, his arms stretched out in front of him to stop her from hitting the floor if she fell. "Liz..."

She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and grabbed onto the edge of the desk. Everything was spinning.

"Don't 'Liz' me," she muttered, feeling nauseous.